by Jenny Kane
Cassandra’s complexion went from pale to alabaster white as she whispered, ‘She knew?’
‘Someone always knows.’
‘But Justin travelled a lot; he didn’t have to be with anyone.’
‘But he was always with you. I mean, you always went away with him.’
‘Yes, but we never said a word to anyone.’
‘Cassandra, love, I suspect that whatever is going on with you and Justin right now has more to do with Jacinta than he’ll ever admit.’
‘It was his wife who ruined my business?’ Suddenly scared, Cassandra found herself shivering, ‘It wasn’t him, it was her – but how?’
‘I haven’t a clue. All I do know is that Justin is in the UK. He is currently taking some time to adjust to his new promotion by working from his home in Chelsea, where I suspect his wife has him under some sort of weird house arrest.’ Abi paused to refill their glasses. ‘If Sasha’s assistant has the correct information, that is. We’re relying on the often exaggerated words of the materialistic mafia here.’
Cassandra felt sick. ‘I’ve been nothing more than a cliché mistress, haven’t I? All those years thinking I was the one. That he was going to leave her for me… and I’ve been nothing. Nothing at all. And now? Now I’m less than nothing.’
Feeling decidedly awkward, Abi said, ‘We don’t know that. Justin may well love you. Jacinta, however, is another matter. By the sounds of things, she’s not a woman to trifle with.’
Picking up her glass of wine, Cassandra downed it in one. ‘That explanation would make some sort of sense at least. What better revenge than selling out the business connection I have with her husband?’
‘It would also tally with what you said about Justin not having anything to gain from stealing the business from you.’ Abi though had the feeling there was far more to it than that, and was pretty sure that if she met Justin she would hate him on sight.
‘Do you think it was Jacinta behind this? She could have forged Justin’s signature on the documents.’
Abi could see how badly Cassandra wanted her to join in with the idea of blaming Justin’s wife, but she couldn’t bring herself to give false hope. ‘I haven’t a clue, but I am convinced of two things.’
Cassandra felt as though her face was fixed in a permanent frown. ‘Which are?’
‘First, whether you love the seaside or hate it, right now you are better off down here. And second, you should smile more often.’
Cassandra wasn’t sure how or why she’d allowed Abi to take her to meet her friend Stan. The last thing she felt like was meeting the pensioner and his fiancée, who she’d heard all about during the drive from Sennen to St Buryan. But Abi had been adamant that they’d cheer her up, and that she needed all the friends she could get right now.
Unable to argue with that final bit of logic, and knowing that at least it would put off the dreadful moment when she’d be alone and have no choice but to sort out everything Abi had discovered, Cassandra found herself sat on a very flowery sofa, next to a pair of the liveliest octogenarians she had ever met.
She began to wonder if she’d accidently strolled onto the set of a cosy television drama. Stan and Dora had accepted and welcomed her as Abi’s new neighbour, without question. In less than three minutes after walking through the door, she was holding a steaming cup of tea plus a slice of Dora’s homemade Victoria sponge cake, which was far too heavy on the cream and jam filling, and found herself marvelling at how brave the pensioners were at organising a wedding at their time of life.
Having been gently but persistently quizzed on her plans for number two Miners Row by Stan, who clearly cared a great deal about the home he’d left behind, not to mention the young woman who lived there, Cassandra found herself volunteering information about her own life without realising she was doing so.
By the time a new round of teas had been poured, Dora had declared she was going to concoct a plan to help Cassandra get her own back on Justin and Jacinta.
Shaking her head, Cassandra grinned at Abi. ‘I think these two are a great loss to MI5. I’ve just shared more with them about my life tonight than I have with anyone in a decade!’
Abi exchanged a glance with Stan as Dora, as if on cue, said, ‘Funny you should mention MI5, because once upon a time I did exactly that.’
Cassandra found herself laughing hard as Dora expanded her colourful claims, drawing them an image of her younger self going covertly beyond enemy lines in a way that was hilarious, even though it shouldn’t have been. In seconds everyone, including Dora, who was musing out loud if she’d have been better off crawling under barbed wire with her current short blue rinse hairstyle rather than the brunette ponytail she’d had then, was laughing as well.
Cassandra was still chuckling when the doorbell rang, and Stan asked if she could answer it as Abi was doing the washing-up, and he and Dora didn’t move at speed so late at night.
Happy to oblige, high on the lightness of unaccustomed laughter after days of worry and confusion, Cassandra threw open the door, still laughing.
‘Wow, what a great laugh!’
Cassandra found herself looking up at a tall man, with closely shaved hair and a cute smile, and she instantly blushed. ‘Oh, umm, thanks.’
‘I’m Dan, I work here. Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’ Cassandra stood back to let him in, and was stunned to find herself flustered, before sternly telling herself that it was pure coincidence that Dan had found himself on the receiving end of one her best smiles. After all, she’d never smile like that at anyone other than Justin until she knew for sure he’d let her down – especially not at someone with tattoos.
Chapter Fourteen
Cassandra stood before the bathroom mirror berating her reflection. She had actually blushed in front of the sheltered housing care manager.
What the hell is happening to you? This is absolutely the worst possible time for you to go soft.
Her sexy black satin and lace night attire, which she’d bought in Truro to wear for Justin, seemed to be mocking her as she stared at her own image. Ripping it off, she pulled on the oversized T-shirt she’d also picked up in Truro. The intention had been to wear it when she was instructing Max what and where to decorate. Now it was going to be her nightshirt.
She tried to picture Justin finding her attractive in a grey T-shirt with a large picture of Little Miss Sunshine splashed across the front, but that leap of the imagination was too great. Such lack of effort on her part would have been interpreted as meaning she didn’t care. ‘And yet I’m expected to put up with his awful rainbow-striped boxer shorts!’
The thought that Dan wouldn’t care what she wore floated through her mind, and caught her by surprise. Cassandra was sure that, whoever he was with, that Dan would appreciate the voyage of physical discovery, regardless of the packaging…
She gave herself a shake. ‘I’m just very tired. You are with Justin.’
Am I?
‘And even if you aren’t any more, Dan is very much not your type. He looks like a thug even if he isn’t one.’
Not entirely believing what she was telling herself, Cassandra turned away from the mirror, unable to face her usual bedtime beauty care routine. With a quick brush of her newly shortened hair, she dived into bed and prayed for sleep to overtake her before her brain tried to tackle the problems she’d spent the last hour trying to stamp down. As far as she could tell, there were no answers to those problems anyway.
Waking with a jolt, Cassandra squinted towards the sunshine that was streaming through the window she’d forgotten to draw the curtains on the night before. Not only had she slept, but she’d had the most pleasant dream of her life – that she could remember anyway.
There had been laughter, and smiling, and the feeling of being cared for. A sense of being amongst friends…of a muscular tattooed arm holding her…
Cassandra’s eyes landed on her laptop, and her brief sense of wellbeing dissolved as a shaft of panic clutch
ed at her chest and reality elbowed its unwelcome way back in.
Closing her eyes again, Cassandra laid her palms over her knees and counted to ten. She badly wanted to believe that it was the evil wife and not the betraying lover who’d conned her.
An abrupt clatter broke through her thoughts, and Cassandra shot out of bed, dragged on her jeans and threw a jacket over her nightshirt. Her heart thudded fast as she reached the bedroom door. Was there someone downstairs? Justin?
Another sound. There was definitely someone there.
Unable to stop the sense of hope that surged up inside her, as she clattered down the stairs, and flung open the kitchen door, only to have it extinguished in the next second.
Max was there, examining her larder door, plane in hand. ‘Sorry, lass, I thought you were up and out already. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Feeling extremely foolish, Cassandra dismissed Max’s concern and, wondering how much Abi had told the decorator about her situation, mumbled something about having a lie-in, and dashed back upstairs.
Muttering, Cassandra cursed her foolishness. ‘That’s it. That is the last time I get my hopes up over Justin Smythe. No one makes a fool of me. No one.’
Picking up her phone, she read the time. And then she checked it again. It was almost ten o’clock in the morning. Ten o’clock! The last time she’d slept in that long she’d been a student. Unless you counted the leisurely mornings she and Justin had spent in many hotel beds across the world… NO. No. Those occasions I am not counting. Not any more.
Glad the thought of Justin made her feel cross enough to harden her heart enough to get moving, Cassandra began to formulate a plan for the day. She had no idea if any of it would help, but if she didn’t do something positive she’d be lost. ‘Time for some damage limitation!’
Within an hour Cassandra had an appointment to see Donald Clearer, had checked Max was happy for her to go out, and had written a thank you letter to Abi.
As she watched the envelope disappear through her neighbour’s letter box, a sense of shame Cassandra was beginning to become familiar with washed over her. It had been a long time since she’d said thank you to anyone for putting themselves out for her. But then, she thought with a hint of self-pity, it has been a long time since people were nice to me without an agenda. Which is partly my fault. Time to do something about that.
Climbing into her hired car, Cassandra set off towards Penzance. She had an hour before meeting her solicitor. That was enough time to grab an espresso, find a good phone signal, pray for a healthy dose of good luck, and somehow rediscover a hell of a lot of the City girl backbone she’d been developing over the last eight years, but had been seriously squashed over the last seventy-two hours.
Dan surveyed Dora’s living room with disbelief. It was stacked almost to hip height with full, and in some cases overflowing, cardboard boxes.
‘I know you’ve been at Chalk Towers a while, Dora, but how did you accumulate this lot!’
Chuckling, Dora shrugged. ‘Some of it came with me, but the rest sort of happened.’
‘Where on earth are you and Stan going to find space to put it all? It’s not like you have an attic to shove it in.’
‘Apparently Stan’s wife, Mary, was an avid collector of everything and anything. He tells me he’s used to clutter.’
‘Which is just as well!’ Dan picked up the nearest box, only to drop it straight back down again. ‘What the hell is in here? Rocks?’
Dora fluttered her eyelashes. ‘And there I was telling that lovely city girl that you were a strong young man.’ She held open the door so Dan could carry her belongings down the landing to her new home with Stan. ‘And yes, it is rocks. But they’re very pretty rocks! I’ve collected them since I was a girl.’
‘Oh, that’s alright then!’ As Dan stretched his arms around the first box that was to be transported to Dora’s new life with more care, a grin played at the corner of his lips. Perhaps the city girl had asked after him. He hoped so, because she had formed a very definite part in his dreams last night.
***
Donald Clearer listened carefully to what Cassandra had to say. She’d told him about what Abi had found out; admitting it was largely speculation as she went. Then she’d described how she had spent the last half an hour on the telephone to as many of her employees – or ex-employees – as she could.
The only option she could see, Cassandra told Donald frankly, was total honesty. She’d explained everything, only stopping short of telling the tutors and governesses that Justin had been her lover for years.
The majority of the nannies, she told the lawyer, had appreciated her candour, and although most had already secured new work, they were now unlikely to sue her for wrongful dismissal. Many of them, she’d been touched to discover, had been horrified by what had happened on her behalf now they were in the picture.
Making a few notes, Donald said, ‘If I may say so, Miss Henley-Pinkerton – sorry – Cassandra, you have been wise to speak openly to your staff. I wasn’t sure you would.’
Not sure she liked what that said about the lawyer’s first impression of her, Cassandra smiled sadly. ‘You may well have been right before this week, but a lot has happened in the last few days.’
‘Indeed it has, my dear. What I have to say now is, I’m afraid, going to be another bitter pill to swallow. I have taken the liberty of arranging tea to be served as soon as we’re done to take the taste away a little. Are you ready?’
Cassandra nodded, clasping her hands together in her lap. She couldn’t stop the feeling that it was going to take a lot more than a cup of tea to make this situation taste better.
‘Whether it was Mr Smythe or Mrs Smythe, or possibly them both together, who acted against you, The Pinkerton Agency has gone. The rumours of a sale were false. You have been dismantled, not sold on.’
‘But how?’
‘I’ll try and explain that in a minute. There is a glimmer of hope, albeit rather fog-bound. This illegal dissolving of the company is far better than a third party being involved because it means we can try and claw back the money you are entitled to, or take steps to reboot the agency. At this stage I am not sure which would be more cost effective. That decision has to be yours. You may not want to restart it now your personal situation is a little different.’
Cassandra felt her throat go dry. No words would form as she listened. Her brain was too busy trying to process what she was being told.
‘Finally we are left with the question of the terrace on Miners Row.’ Mr Clearer pulled a document from the pile on his desk. ‘That I think we can say is yours. The payment was cash, and when Mr Smythe dealt with the estate agent in St Just, he operated under your name.’
Cassandra frowned. ‘Are you telling me that Justin has destroyed my business, but at the same time bought me a house in Sennen?’
‘That is very much what it looks like.’
‘But that’s crazy. Why would he do that?’
Smiling his thanks as his secretary arrived with the teapot and two cups, Mr Clearer said, ‘My only guess at this time is that he feels guilty. He doesn’t want you broke, Cassandra, but he also wants you as far away from London as possible. Let’s face it, although the world runs from the Internet these days, it’s much harder to save a business when you aren’t there in person to make a lot of noise.’
‘Guilty? After doing all that?’
Mr Clearer dunked a Rich Tea biscuit into his china cup. ‘I’ve been a lawyer my whole working life, Cassandra, and the illogical things men and women do out of guilt never cease to astound me.’
Dan stood in the middle of Stan’s living room and surveyed the cardboard boxes which had been transposed from one flat lounge to the other. Sweat ran down his back as he took the offered glass of iced water, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Stan mate?’
The older man laughed. ‘It is a bit like a postal depot in here, isn’t it?’
‘To put it mildly.’ Dan la
ughed in return. There was something about this place. The hours were unconventional, there was often illness and sometimes death to deal with, but the optimism of Chalk Towers’ residents was unlike anything Dan had come across before. Of all the things he’d done as a care worker, he’d never yet had to help arrange a pensioners’ wedding, and he certainly hadn’t expected to be helping two residents to shack up together.
‘Is Max coming over later to help me move the furniture?’
‘About half six apparently.’ Stan winked mischievously. ‘Hoping he’ll bring Abi and her pretty new neighbour, are you?’
‘Stan Abbey, I have no idea what you are talking about. Now, where do you want Dora’s rock collection?’
‘She has a rock collection?’
Chapter Fifteen
Cassandra laid out the large spreadsheet Donald Clearer had allowed her to print while she was at his office on the patio table.
The house in Sennen, once it was done up, would be worth almost as much as her place in London. It really was as if Justin had been trying to compensate her for being such a git.
Resting her elbows on the table in an uncharacteristically slovenly fashion, she took a collection of pens and began to mark in the names of the employees she had spoken to, their new or previous employers, and how receptive they had been to the thought of continuing to work for her should she reboot the business.
It had only taken a couple of minutes thought before she knew she didn’t want to save the business in the form it had been. Any and all connections to Justin had to be terminated.
Cassandra sighed into her gin and tonic as her heart contracted. She had loved him. Did love him. Perhaps I’m wrong? Perhaps he’ll still come…
After Shaking her head sharply, she took a sip of the ice-cold liquid and was glad she’d purchased a stock of groceries on her way back from Penzance. The fact she was staying here for the foreseeable future had spurred her on to buy some home comforts.
